Holy Land
by Sweetie Amoeba
Summary: Johnny thinks he owns the fucking universe. Johnny has a motorbike and a black belt and weed and friends. Daniel has none of these things. (Oneshot)


That's real good thinking there, kiddo, try to get back at him using your street smarts and the ancient bathroom plumbing. He'll never know what hit him! Just turn the water on and run like hell, make him sorry, never mind what he could do to you. And you really are street-smart, kid, you're crafty and cunning and can talk like a badass but despite all that, you still can't fight your way out of anything.

He stands in the mens' room and in his hand is a cheap rubber hose, and in front of him is a plastic bathroom stall with a skeleton inside. It has a bony face and bony fingers, taking his time to roll the first joint of the week because this place blows and everyone knows it. The skeleton has skeleton friends and they're all going to get baked.

The skeleton is wearing Converse and has stale Pepsi breath. He looks Cali, speaks Cali, walks and wears nothing but Cali, but where is he really?

_Get out of there, Daniel. Move. Split. Scram. Blow. Run. Vamoose. Leave!_

_Gogogogogogo or will we just end up reliving the scene on the beach with you struggling and looking like a fool and terrified he'll GET you...run run run through the crepe paper jungle of witches and ghosts and hobos and ice queens until the inside of your throat is coated with rust and you see black spots in front of your eyes._

And here he is, hose in hand, ready to get his hilarious revenge.

_You've got twenty seconds until he sees you_

This place has it in for you, kid. These people, the trashlands of America, the dirty streets and grit make you want to lock yourself in the apartment and never leave. You biked to the school tonight carrying your costume across the handlebars, knowing no one at school but Ali and you're sure you've got her. Ice queen Ali, sugar honey hormone squash blondie valley girl, watching the pink shower curtain bob and weave across the dance floor.

"I bet he thinks we don't recognize him," she says to herself.

_Leave now or you'll be sorry!_

He always knew he wasn't safe, that any stranger on the street could be a murderer. That the world was a dangerous place and he had to be careful or he'd end up in some alley with his head bashed in and no one would notice for days...

Because most of the time, nobody understands how trashy this country really is. Riding across the USA in the shambled car to get the his soggy new home, Daniel saw the trashlands of America and their trashy, ruined glory...the muffler shops, office supply superstores, used-car lots, gas station bathrooms, dry rivers and sagebrush, reservation casinos, hotel-room Dixie cups, cheap instant coffee, powerlines upon powerlines, barbecue sandwiches wrapped in foil with kool-ade, neon diner signs, cold bright aisles of grocery stores, exhaust fumes, strip malls, gray trees, chipping paint on wood park picnic tables...he saw the trashlands of New England, the Midwest, the Southwest, and then of the big city. He journeyed to the coast on his bike at night and had to watch out for hypodermic needles in the sand and people who might break into the car.

_You've got about fifteen seconds before he comes out of the stall. Go ahead and pull the prank, you might as well get it over with._

Johnny thinks he owns the fucking universe. Johnny has a motorbike and a black belt and weed and friends. Daniel has none of these things.

Growing up in LA, Johnny had always felt that who he was as a person had been hidden under excruciatingly dull rules and regulations and traditions and expectations, none of which he had any say in. He knew how to have fun, knew how to stay out of trouble, was practically swimming in privilege and opportunity, but it's hard to play the favorite son when you know you're not really anyone's favorite, not even your own. So he's the Cali boy, the angel child, until he gets his chance to be bad and stop it all.

_Go ahead, put the hose in place. Now walk over to the handle_

What Johnny really wants is to find his Eden, his Zion, his own personal Holy Land. He drifts around in his car on weekends, driving up and down the highway and pretending to be going somewhere when all he wants is to have somewhere to go. He'll get out of here and start running his own life as soon as it becomes possible. He'll have no one to thank but himself.

His face takes on a concealed, inward look as he concentrates on rolling the number. His hands move like spiders and his mind burns low and warm.

_And now..._

Whoosh!

Johnny Lawrence collapses under the pressure of the psychotic mental state of the modern world.

Daniel scrams out of there, slipping slightly on the floor as he goes.

_RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN_

And now that I've got your attention, kid, now that you've decided to take action, you have to admit that you can't defend yourself worth a damn. You can talk your way out of anything but tonight you're a goddamn loser. You think this waterhose prank will settle the score? You think you did some real damage, huh? Right. Godspeed, kiddo. Goodnight and good fucking luck.

_And he runs out through the crowd, through the jungle of streamers and lights, with Johnny right on his tail until Ali trips him and all their skeletal bodies tumble over each other on the slippery floor, and they're angry and disoriented, and at last, around it comes..._


End file.
